


A many-splendored thing

by nea_writes



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Musician!Allen, Pure indulgent fluff, School Teacher!Link, i will never stop naming fics after old love ballads fight me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 04:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8518378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nea_writes/pseuds/nea_writes
Summary: Link’s life was always busy and he loved every moment of it. But, Allen sometimes had to remind him that these warm and quiet moments, too, were precious and treasured.





	

**Author's Note:**

> "Kim wants 68 fucking linkllens let's go before the lucky shippers get a move on" is what hurryupfic told me to post as the title. I decided it could go into the notes instead. An old drabble from tumblr cross-posted to here, to the prompt: I wish we could stay like this forever.

It was cold outside, weather Link normally associated with Allen in the first place. The snow fell in flurries and drifts, harsh one second and tender the next. It had already piled a few inches, and Link knew tomorrow morning would be insufferable to get through, but for right now, on this Sunday afternoon, there were no harsh feelings.

Link’s mind was always hurriedly running through tasks - _do the dishes, take out the trash, take the dog for a walk, change the cat’s litter box, make a grocery run before nightfall, decide what to cook for dinner, be mindful to make enough for lunch tomorrow, finish grading the kids’ essays, iron his ties, organize their dresser drawers -_ and it never seemed to end. It wasn’t a bad thing. Link _liked_ being busy. Liked constantly going from one task to another and the satisfaction he felt at the end of the day when it was all done.

He could appreciate quiet moments, too. His whole life was always so hectic that he preferred silence over most music or idle background noise, though soft muted chatter, like that of a college cafe or while his kids were working in the class. Those were always kind of nice.

Long story short, Link’s life was always busy and he loved every moment of it.

But, Allen sometimes had to remind him that these moments, too, were precious and treasured.

Allen shifted, pressing his nose into the crown of Link’s head, breath lightly swaying the stray hairs there. For a moment, Link idly worried whether the fact he showered only that morning would show, but somehow Allen never minded mundane smells like that - he said he liked them, that they reminded him Link was human and real and there. It sounded like an insult at first, but then Link thought it was more of a reflection of Allen than himself, so he had stayed quiet.

It was heading into February, and it showed in the ice building on roads and how even when in front of their fireplace Allen still shivered, chilled to his bones. Allen was never entirely warm, for some reason, and while in summer that was delightful in winter it was just plain worrying. He wasn’t prone to sickness, neither, which was a God send, but his shivers at night alarmed Link.

Allen’s toes pressed into the space above Link’s sock and beneath the hem of his pants, and Link hissed, almost tempted to roll out of bed but staying nonetheless.

“You have awful circulation,” Link complained, and Allen huffed a laugh into his hair.

“That’s what you’re for,” Allen replied, and pressed his toes deeper until Link could feel the slight curve of his nail. Link shifted in his arms, ignoring the comment in favor of turning further into Allen’s embrace, where despite his chilled fingertips and feet his arms and chest were warm as a furnace. He wrapped his arms around Allen’s waist, pulling him closer, sighing into that warmth.

Allen giggled lightly as his chest curved the slightest bit, bringing his neck level with Link’s face. It was warm there, too, so Link burrowed his nose into the crook of his shoulder and neck, breathing deeply and finding the scent of citrus, detergent, and something like ink comforting. “Were you composing again?” Link asked, words muffled into Allen’s skin.

He could feel the answering hum in his collarbone, and when he closed his eyes his eyelashes swept Allen’s skin. It was weird how that action alone told Link how close they were, and not their entangled legs and arms, or their bodies pressed flushed together. He brought a hand up to trace the curve of a tattoo on his bicep, hissing when the cover fell away and exposed his forearm to the cold air.

“Yeah,” Allen said, absently bringing the cover back up until it brushed Link’s chin. It still left Allen’s shoulder bare though, so Link curved his hand around it flat, rubbing the angle of his shoulder with his thumb, pressing against the bone. “Why? Do I smell like it?”

Link exhaled. “Yeah. It always lingers on you afterwards.”

Allen hummed again, quietly, and though they didn’t talk much it wasn’t uncomfortable. It rarely was, anymore. They argued often, yes, but it was petty little ones, over who left the refrigerator door slightly open and who left their car’s gas so low. Rare were the big arguments, because money wasn’t an issue after Allen’s uncle came and claimed him - a huge debacle in college that threatened their relationship then for many reasons most of which lied with Link’s patron - and because Allen was mostly flexible and Link prone to compromising whether it be a little or a lot.

The snow grew harsh again, and it hit the window in the most muted of thuds, noticeable only because the only other sound was their quiet breathing. It was as if they were comfortably asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms and taking and returning each other’s warmth. Allen squeezed him closer, exhaled into his hair and brought his cheek down on it. Link could feel the pull of strands in his braid, but he didn’t mind.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Allen murmured, quietly, softly. A thought so true and so deeply felt it became words only through effort. With one ear pressed against the pillow and the other half covered by sheets, Link barely heard him.

“We are,” Link replied, sliding his hand down Allen’s arm, curving round his wrist, and finding his hand, intertwining their fingers. “We are, in the spring, and in the summer, and in the fall. In the next winter, and the winter after that, we’ll be together,” he squeezed Allen’s fingers, felt an answering squeeze back. “This, this is our forever.”

Allen was silent, his chest expanding with breath into Link’s, pressing against his and back and forth. He slid his cheek along Link’s head, pressed a dry kiss through Link’s bangs to his temples. It moved them to fall further askew on his forehead, and so Allen pressed another kiss to the skin there.

“You English teacher is showing,” Allen finally said, and Link dryly laughed. Allen Walker, charmer extraordinaire and renown pianist of his generation with a compulsion so endearing it led others to their knees, that Allen Walker, embarrassed? Somehow, in all the times Allen embarrassed and flustered him, this one time triumphed them all, and so Link laughed again.

“Be quiet,” Allen admonished, and Link could hear the soft fall of snow again.


End file.
